Christine Feehan - Shadowgame

He wanted her. All of her, not just her body, but her heart and soul and her brilliant mind. His jaw hardened. Few things escaped him when he hunted. Lily was too important to him to let her slip away.

Lily turned her head toward him unerringly, as if sensing danger in the darkness. "Ryland? Is everything all right?"

"It's just perfect, Lily," he answered.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking at what's mine." He waited a heartbeat. "Thinking about all the ways I want to make love to you."

"Well, then." There was soft amusement in her voice, soft invitation. "Is all that thinking getting me anywhere?"

His hand cupped his body, slid over the hard thickness, testifying to his response, to his indulgence in fantasies. "I think so."

"Come here where I can see." Lily laughed softly, joyously in invitation. "I've always thought indulging your every fantasy would be fun. What is it you want right this minute?"

Ryland thought about it. "More than anything, I want to take away every bruise on your body. I want to get rid of every sore spot and replace it with feeling good. I want you to forget nightmares and sadness and think only of me, even if it's only for a few minutes. I want you happy and I want to be the man who makes you happy."

Lily felt a curious melting sensation in the region of her heart. Her body turned instantly to liquid heat. It wasn't at all what Lily expected him to say. Ryland was a wild man when it came to sex and he was standing over her with a predatory look on his face and raw hunger in his eyes. His body was hot and hard and demanding urgent relief. How was it possible to resist him when he could say things like that so sincerely?

"Come here, then, Ryland," she called softly.

He walked to the side of the bed, watched her turn on her side, reach for his body with caressing fingertips. She stroked his thighs and he let her, wanting to make her happy, knowing instinctively she wanted to explore his body in the same way he needed to explore hers. Her palm was hot on his thigh, her fingernails raking his skin lightly. Then her hand cupped his sac, squeezed lightly and teased so that he gasped with pleasure, shifting his stance to move closer.

"Lily," he protested, but it was a plea for mercy.

"No, just let me. I want to memorize you. Your shape. I love the way I can make you feel." The moonlight was spilling across his body. She liked watching her fingers on him, shaping him, dancing over him, teasing and making the breath slam out of his lungs. He could make her lose her mind so easily. With his hands. His mouth. With his body. She wanted to know she could do the same. That they had equal power between them.

Ryland could see it mattered to her. His body was as hard as a rock and her lingering caresses just might kill him, but he figured he'd die happy. "Someday, when the others aren't around, I'll share this with you, the way you make me feel. You'll feel it too," he said. The words came out between his teeth. He was watching her face emerge from the shadows, slowly inching toward him. She was beautiful, every classic line, her small patrician nose, her full, generous mouth. Her long feathery eyelashes. And her eyes. She looked up at him and he felt himself falling forward into her eyes.

Her mouth was hot and tight and wet, sliding over him, her tongue doing some kind of dance that had his brain exploding right out of his skull. His hands fisted in her hair, thumbs caressing the silken strands. He allowed his head to fall back and he closed his eyes, giving himself up completely to her, to the pleasure she brought him.

Her hands were everywhere, shaping his firm buttocks, exploring his hips, sliding along the columns of his thighs. She traced his ribs, his flat belly, urged his hips to a slow, leisurely rhythm all the while the flames of sensuality licked over his body.

When he knew another moment would take away all control, he gently, reluctantly, moved away from her. It was a struggle to get his breathing back, to find a way to force his leaden legs to move. Ryland made his way to the end of the bed and knelt there, looking down at her.

"Lily, I want this night for you. I want you to feel how much I love you. When I'm touching you and kissing you, when I make love to you, I want you to always know it isn't just about sex. There's so much more between us. I don't have pretty words to wrap it up in. All I can do is show you."

"You have beautiful words, Ryland," she protested. His fingers were massaging her calf muscles, taking her breath, robbing her of speech. It was always like that with him when he touched her. And he was right. She could feel his love. It flowed through his fingertips when he caressed her scars and each sore muscle. It was in his lips as they touched each bruise. In his tongue as it swirled over the discolored marks in a lazy sweet healing. The way he loved her brought tears to her eyes.

Ryland made his way up her legs, found her tight black curls, and delved there for treasure. Lily nearly came off the bed. He simply caught her hips and dragged her closer, indulging his taste for her. Making his claim. He wanted her to know there was no one else in the world for her. Or for him.

Lily cried out as wave after wave of ecstasy rocked her. Ryland's hands pinned her hips, leaving her open and vulnerable to him. He took his time, worshiping her body, heightening her pleasure in every possible way he knew. And his knowledge was considerable. She gasped for mercy, pleaded with him to take her, begged for his possession. All the while her body responded to his every touch.

He took his time, a leisurely exploration, every shadow, every hollow, committing to memory her every response. He found the bruises and the sore spots. He found every sensitive spot. She was frantic, trying to pull him to her, whispering to him there in the dark of the night.

Ryland settled his body over hers. Felt her softness, her skin nearly melting under his. Her hips cradled his lovingly. Her entrance was hot and damp with welcome. He pushed into her velvet folds, just the thick head so that she bathed him with flames. "Tell me, Lily. I need you to say it out loud."

Her gaze moved over his face. "Say what? I think you already are hearing me. I want you deep inside me where you belong."

"We fit together. We were made for each other." He pushed inside her deeper, her tight channel grasping, resisting, only to soften and welcome. The sensation ripped him up inside. "Do you feel that, Lily? Do you think it's ever been this way with anyone else? Do you think it ever could be?" He thrust a little deeper. His breath slammed out of his lungs. His fingers curled possessively around her hips, held her still while he took her slowly. His way. Thoroughly.

"I love you, Ryland, I'm not looking for another man. Tell me. Say it. What is it that you're looking for from me?"

Her eyes were too blue. Saw too much. Ryland could see the intelligence there. She was everything he was not. Rich. Smart. Sophisticated. She had more education than he would see in his lifetime. He tightened his hold on her and plunged in deep and hard. Long strokes designed to drive them both out of their minds. Take them from the reality of the world and into another of heat and fire and passion where nothing else mattered and she was wholly his.

There in the bed, in the light of the moon, he was a part of her. Would always be a part of her. He took himself to the limits of his control, riding her hard and deep, was rewarded with her breathless cries, her hands clinging to his, her body wildly meeting his, matching every rhythm he set without hesitation. She followed his lead with complete trust, without inhibition, giving herself fully to him.

Lily heard her own voice crying out, heard a sound in his throat as the flames engulfed them, as the world exploded around them leaving behind colors and lights and so much pleasure she could only lie there gasping for breath and staring up at his face. His beloved face. She loved every rugged edge, every scar, the blue shadow he could never quite get rid of. Wave after wave of pleasure shook her, an explosion of shocks, leaving her locked with him, sated, happy. Belonging.